


Gym Rat

by bonehandledknife (ladywinter), Primarybufferpanel (ArwenLune)



Series: The Mountains Are The Same [30]
Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Fanart Welcome, Gen, Implied F/F, Implied M/F, Implied M/M, Podfic Welcome, So much implication, Worldbuilding, artshaming, implications everywhere, implied lizards, implied m/m/m/m/f, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-14
Updated: 2015-11-14
Packaged: 2018-05-01 15:56:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5211899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladywinter/pseuds/bonehandledknife, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArwenLune/pseuds/Primarybufferpanel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Gym rat: One of many terms for persons who, with swagger, assert they know climbing because they climb in rock gyms. When rock and mountain climbing, they often become frightened because they are nubs (aspiring newbies) regarding anchors and protection.</i>
</p><p>“We should tell the Tribunes!”</p><p>“Tell them what?”</p><p>Mellie jumped a little and then whipped around to point at Kaybar’s nose, “Pants.”</p><p>“Why do the Tribunes need to know about pants, I thought they already wore some?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gym Rat

Kaybar woke up, kinda groggy and dry-mouthed. That was weird, he’d had battle highs before but none that ended up with dreams of a filthy-mouthed Farmer Boy doing such _filthy_ things.

A hand groped his asscheek, and a familiar sleepy voice declared, “Mmm, now you’re symmetrical.”

He blinked slowly, _ooookay? Not a dream apparently?_

When Kaybar looked down his body it was streaks and swirls of grey mixed with yellow. It looked almost… kinda neat. _Huh._ He twisted to try to look at his back but he couldn’t get a good angle. Maybe if he fetched some aqua-cola to get a good reflection going on, or use one of the mirrors on a rig.

He looked up at… whatshisface. Scythe? The Farmer Boy he'd first met in the canyon, the one with the wicked grin. His yellow paint was streaked with grey-white handprints. It looked pretty cool too.

“You have a mirror on you by any chance?”

“No? Why do you—”

“Do you have any idea how chrome we look right now?” Kaybar thrilled.

“Uh.” Scythe looked down at himself. Looked back at Kaybar, and his mouth twisted wide, “Well you’re rocking the afterglow.”

“I think you mean I’m rocking the _art_.” Kaybar leapt off the sleeping ledge, “Come on, I want to see my ass from a good reflection. It’s probably _epic_.”

Scythe barely had time to eyeroll and grab his pants before he was tugged off the ledge, still yawning.

 ****  


* * *

 

"Kaybar, are those.. yellow handprints on your ass?"

"You should see the other guy!"

"What?"

Kaybar gestured to the Farmer Boy who was, somewhat reluctantly, following him, still hopping into a pair of pants. He was also adorned with handprints.  

 

“Kaybar for all that is chrome, put on some pants,” Toolbox shouted when they arrived in the garages.

“My art needs to be seen to be appreciated."

“Is that what you're calling your gearstick now? You never had a problem with pants before—”

“DON’T ARTSHAME ME.” Kaybar roared before he went back to preening before a mirror.

A Farmer Boy (with similar streaks) had his face in his hands, standing off to the side.

Mellie turned to Britt, who she’d pulled over to follow the boys to the garage, “You see?”

"More than I care to." She was holding up a hand to shield her eyes.

“That too, but I mean the paint!” Mellie said excitedly, “We can pattern the different clay shades; the pups, they need sun protection right? And the paint makes them feel grown?”

“We can let them paint instead of scarring each other up,” Britt murmured slowly lowering her hand to cup thoughtfully around her mouth.

“Maybe even... well, we all have our family lines woven into our hair? We can draw their family lines on those pups we recognize, teach them what it means!”

“It’ll give them an identity, instead of taking it away,” Britt agreed. "And we could wear it ourselves, if we want to go into the sun."

“We should tell the Tribunes!”

“Tell them what?”

Mellie jumped a little and then whipped around to point at Kaybar’s nose, “Pants.”

“Why do the Tribunes need to know about pants, I thought they already wore some?”

“Pants for _you_.”

His face went scrunched. "I have to?"

Britt rolled her eyes and unwound an extra bit of cloth she’d been using to keep dust from her hair, “At least kilt up.” She tossed the cloth at him. "The Council is likely to want to shoot schlangers on sight."

The Farmer Boy had caught up, belting on his pants, and tossed an extra belt at the war boy. “This should help.”

Kaybar was already winding the cloth around, if a bit sullenly, fixing it in place with the belt and protested to the other man, “Can I at least leave my ass uncovered, I mean look at this! It’s shiny!”

“Yes yes, very nice,” the farmer boy rolled his eyes, “Why are you even asking _me_? Do as they say.”

“Coma Doof never got this much grief,” Kaybar said tragically, tucking his ‘art’ away.

“People _asked_ for his,” the farmer boy snorted, “We’d heard stories of his thrashing even in Bullet Farm.”

“So do you think if I refined—”

“No.”

“But—!”

“ _No_.”

Mellie and Britt were already walking toward the Council rooms but she heard, distantly, ‘I care about your, uh, art, but _they don’t_ , so you might as well save it for those who wants it.’

She was not at all surprised to see that their paint had further rearranged, once they’d finally arrived in the Council room. She hid a smile.

 ****  


* * *

 

Max wandered around aimlessly after breakfast, unsure what to do with himself after the announcement of Ace's promotion. Unsure of what to do with himself even _during_ , the celebration seemed excessive to his eye for a simple promotion and there were undercurrents he couldn’t read. It seemed blindingly obvious to Max that Ace was already effectively an Imperator and that the promotion was only making it official. The overly excitable reaction of the warboys made him suddenly feel out of place again, reminding him of how alien they were.  

Furiosa had gone back to her quarters after tearing herself away from the cheering mass of war boys, guiding the still-healing Rachet with her to get some more rest. The others were busy organising, Ace in the middle of several who wanted to be on his crew. Kompass and Austeyr were talking to the Tribunes about going down to ground level later today to speak to the warboys camping there.

Yesterday, Max had fit among them, had found a place where he could be useful, and it had seemed easy. Today all of that seemed to be gone again.

Maybe it was simply staying in one location for so long, and a place that was all walls and tunnels instead of open sky?

(Maybe it’s the persistent feeling that it was all too easy. Too simple. Too safe.)

 

He eventually washed up toward the council rooms, where some people were sitting around chatting, the session apparently having ended some time ago. Most of the Council had dispersed except for the Tribunes, two milkers, some Vuvalini, and oddly, one war boy.

Max’s confusion cleared up as he listened, they were apparently debriefing the young man who’d been requested by Cheedo to spy on the traitors. He frowned a little, not quite expecting young Cheedo to take up that task but it’d seemed to be something she walked into herself. Cheedo saw him, ducked into the shadow of the hallway, and waved for him to join them, holding up a cup of water in offer. He gingerly sat down on the edge of the circle, not quite feeling like he was supposed to be here, either. Especially when the conversation picked back up.

"...and I swear, the way they were _looking_ at each other!"

"Like looks could kill?"

"That's pretty much true for Feng, isn't it?"

"Not the way she was looking at Miss Giddy!"

“If she’d walked any faster towards that car, it would’ve been a run.”

“Doesn’t the Soundless always move quickly though?” Oti, the warboy, asked. He was one of the few that Max could quickly identify, the gossip flying in from all angles.

“You don’t get it she…she looked like—” there was some flailing. "Like she couldn't decide if she wanted to kill her or kiss her.”

"And since Miss Giddy is still ~alive~…" Dag sing-songed.

“Are you implying—!” some scandalized gasps circled the group.

“Just stating the facts that we’ve all seen, is all.”

“Those are some facts,” Toast muttered.

“What, like you wouldn’t take those same facts if it were two war boys and come to the same conclusions!”

"That's different! I want to keep an eye on that because I don't know how freely they choose." Gilly said intently, “It’s important that they know they have a choice, especially if there’s a power imbalance.”

“Also how would two breeders even _work_ ,” Oti muttered, “who would even— and I mean they're _old_ —”

“Stop right there.” Janey said with exasperation.

“But—!”

“We’ll talk later.”

Oti seemed unable to decide whether to look intrigued or intimidated.

“And even if those gals might cause the rest of us grief in a lover’s spat.” Gilly continued, "At least we don't have to worry about _them_ doing things they don't want to."

"You're worried about those two warboys this morning, with the paint?"

"Maybe? That Farmer Boy looked like he wanted to be anywhere else but here."

"Gave Kaybar his belt though," Oti pointed out, like that should say more than it did.

"So? He had more than one."

"Belts are shine. The more belts the better. You don't just give one to somebody you don't like," he shrugged, voice dropping low and soft as if the fact that a warboy might like somebody was embarrassing.

"...Furiosa has a lot of belts," Cheedo mused with a gleam in her eye.

The women contemplated this. Visibly thought about the way her crew shaped and furled around her.

"The way those boys look at her, it's a miracle she isn't covered from armpit to ankle," Gale said finally.

Toast grinned. "Maybe she has a stash somewhere."

“She sometimes switches them out from what I could see,” Oti mentioned cautiously.

Max had in fact seen her unlock a storage chest and chose from several belts. There was one she'd contemplated and put back, a belt scraped up and stained with a darkness that was probably old blood. A memento to a specific warboy?

“I’ve been meaning to ask about that,” Vicks broke in, “What’s with our girl and her harem?"

For some reason everybody was suddenly looking at Max, and he cringed. He suspected Furiosa and her crew had always been closed-lipped, protective of what they had and very aware of the vulnerability of it. Even if what they had was nothing more than the little he'd seen... the Citadel, let alone the Wasteland itself, had no tolerance for the kind of care and rough affection he'd seen between the crew. It was something so rare, so fragile in the moral wasteland Joe had created, that the idea of betraying the confidence was unthinkable.

Then they kept looking at him, he grunted. "Not, hmm, not for me to, uh, to speak of."

"Don't pressure Max, if it's private then it's private." Capable said in support.

"Speaking of private, we should probably institute some decency guidelines.” Toast grimaced, “Some of the warboys could do with a few more inhibitions."

"Agreed, I don't want people to be feelin' menaced by schlangers."

“Yeah, Kaybar’s a bit…too relaxed.”

“I like the… the paint?” Cheedo says politely, “But...”

"But naked schlangers should be shot on sight." The Dag muttered.

The Vuvalini exchanged glances and wry looks, “Can’t say you’re entirely wrong.”

Max remembered Kaybar, and thought a few more inhibitions probably wouldn't hurt.

* * *

 

Max wandered around after the partial-Council dispersed to the Mess hall or their rooms, still feeling odd in his skin and out of sorts. His mind kept turning over the implications of all of Furiosa’s belts and the ease of the crew as they moved around her. He kept having the mental double-vision of how the crew acted in public versus while in her room, and the prickliness to which they guarded their personal space among non-crew members.

And how they had none with him. How she'd never had, with him.

He kept flashing back to the way he and Furiosa moved around each other, mostly careless and far too easily. How Austeyr stole his food with nary a sense of internal alarm, and how Max inexplicitly hadn't felt the urge to stab him for it. To how Kompass had been able to surprise him with a head conk, how he stayed with Rachet in the infirmary, despite still not being sure how he'd stopped himself from running back out. Managed to fall asleep now, around them and Ace.

He’d— Max realized suddenly— he hadn’t had a nightmare. Or.

There was the vague memory of waking up startled, but warm, and having fingers stroke his head until he’d dropped back down into non-awareness.

(and it felt _dangerous_ )

“Hey, Wastelander.”

Max focused his eyes on the group of women in front of him. He looked around uneasily, trying to place where he’d wandered to, but he wasn't quite sure. Was he somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be? He knew that the Council had wanted to maintain safe spaces for the women because the situation was still all rather new and tenuous.

The speaker was proud looking, stocky, and held herself like that one Aunt Entity he’d met. Or at least, she looked vaguely familiar, but he did not think he'd met her before.  “Wastelander, I know you have the ear of the Council and we need to know if you’d help us in this.”

Max hummed in confusion, but gestured for her to continue.

“There are a couple of war boys that have still been pushy and loud. Some of the women are scared.”

“Which ones?” Max asked, before she could continue, eyes flickering around them. They didn’t just finish fighting so that they’d have to fight again, internally. He felt his shoulders crawl up around his ears and his weight move forward to be light on his feet.

“Not…” She eyed him, “They’re not an immediate threat, we don’t think. But…”

“But they could be.” Max knew that he couldn’t take on a mass of war boys, multiple escape attempts attested to that. But maybe… Maybe if he brought it up to Ace, he wouldn’t have to? “Give me names.”

“Just like that?” The woman’s shoulders twitchily settled, and Max found his shoulders settling in response as well.

“So you don’t have names?” Max’s forehead furrowed.

“...I have names but,” she looked unbalanced, like a fight she’d been preparing for was suddenly resolved. She seemed to shake herself and then started listing names and the women who were being bothered and Max pulled out a bit of fabric to scritch in notations to remind himself. She’d blinked at him a bit when he’d first pulled it out and wet the needle but then shook herself again and continued.

She paused over one name. “Ah…”

Max hummed at her encouragingly.

“I don’t know how you’d take to me saying this. It isn’t even… he doesn’t approach me. Not since Tend— Just stares, sometimes.” She looked away and shivered, “And he looks angry about it. It just. It makes me nervous.”

“Can make sure he stops,” Max suggested, “Doesn’t approach you or stare.”

“...even if he’s one of Furiosa’s crew?” the woman challenged.

Max made a startled sound.

“It’s Kompass. Would that change things?” She said, letting out the words like like firing a weapon, “Tell him to stop staring at me. At ‘Polaris’, if you need a name.”

Max studied the notes he’d been making and thought about war boys, about progress and backsliding, about that war boy Nux and the way he’d met him, strung up and being bled dry. He thought about holding guns on the girls, and shooting one of them on the leg, even if accidentally.

“I’ll make sure both him and Ace knows,” Max finally said, looking up at her.

She looked back at him, surprised and wary. “I’ll hold you to that.”

* * *

 

"...there’s this last one."

"Yeah?" Ace muttered tiredly. Kompass grunted from where he’d been scanning the Pits, looking thoughtful and annoyed, muttering about this or that war boy that they’d have to see to. Apparently many of the problem ones were in the group that Max brought back, even though a couple were from those originally at the Citadel, injured. Something about ‘Lance’s crew’, whatever that meant.

"Could be either easy or hard.” Max picked at the scab he’d use for ink and hummed, trying to gauge how they might react.

“How so?” Kompass turned around.

“Know a Polaris?”

They looked at each other with a clear question in their eyes, but looked equally confused, and stared back at Max. “Don’t know a War boy by that name.”

“No, I mean. One of the women… mmm, you call them breeders.“

“Yeah?”

“Asks that Kompass stop staring at her.”

"Kompass?" Ace said in surprise, looking at the other warboy, eyes narrowing.

“What?! I’ve never… I wouldn’t...” the war boy glanced between them, then paused suddenly, looking struck, “...wait. Can you describe her?”

"About your height, darkhaired," Max gestured at Kompass, "wide shoulders? Can’t place her accent."

“Polaris…” Something strange flickered across Kompass’ face. “ ‘course that’s her name.” He turned and leaned against a wall, crossing his arms.

“You know her?”

“Not really,” he shook his head, eyes flickering around. “Wanted to though. She’s… scared of me?”

“Seems like. Says you look angry,” Max shrugged, with the awkward knowledge that angry seems to be the war boy’s resting face, “Wants you to stay away.”

“Ah.” The warboy hunched his shoulders, eyes on the far rock wall.

“Kompass…” Ace said warningly.

“...okay.”

“You can’t just—” Ace sounded frustrated and disappointed.

“I said _okay_!” Kompass shouted, then caught himself.

Max and Ace stared at him.

The war boy palmed his face and sighed in resignation. “I said okay,” he repeated, softer. “And I’ll work on. On.” He waved his hand at his face.

“Yeah?”

“If she’s. If she’s scared it doesn't matter what I want.” Kompass glanced back down at the Pits. “She, I mean she doesn’t know me from any other war boy, right?”

“Do you… why were you staring?” Ace asked. "That's not like you."

The war boy just clutched his wrist, nails scoring his scars, and chuckled weakly, “No good reason, I guess. Stupid, probably. I’ll stay away.”

There was a long and careful moment where they all tried to breathe and process. Ace staring at Kompass with a terrible twist to his mouth.

Kompass suddenly looked up at Max. “You can approach her. Right?”

Max nodded warily.

“Tell her,” he swallowed, his lips moving to silently sound out a few words, and nodded firmly, “ _Ek is jammer_. Tell her I won’t come near again.”

Max raised an eyebrow at him and tried repeating it. “What does it mean?”

Kompass looked away, disquieted, “She'll know. Nothing rude.” He pushed away from the wall he'd been leaning against and walked away, nothing of his usual confident swagger. “Heading towards the Pits," he called back, "beating some heads in what needs beating.”

Max and Ace exchanged a look.

* * *

 

Max wasn’t sure what to make of the reaction that Polaris had to his message when he found her at the Mess hall during evening meal. She’d went very still and demanded that he’d repeat it again, three times, and then sat back, looking shocked.

“He said it wasn’t rude,” Max tries, brow furrowing.

“It’s not rude,” she said, waving that off and staring off in the middle distance, “But. But how does he know even how to—” she broke off and looked at him, “He asked about my mother."

Max made a questioning sound.

Polaris waved him off too, “He said he won’t come near but he said nothing about me approaching _him_ , right?”

Max shrugged, it shouldn’t be a factor he thinks, if the women approach first.

She nodded and pushed herself up from the table, and walked back to the table where Furiosa’s crew held court. Max trailed after her at a distance, feeling awkward but wanting to be nearby to support if it should be needed.

Kompass blanched when he saw her approach, and resolutely kept his eyes on his food, even when she started talking, words, but nothing understandable. But at one point his head darted up and he finally looked at her, spoon dropping into his bowl.

The others at the table couldn't quite hide their curiosity.

There was a poorly hidden eagerness in Kompass' eyes when he answered, haltingly as if the words didn't come easily. She nodded, with a little uncertainty that seemed to disappear, and then she was walking back.

As they passed, she looked over at Max and said, simply, “Thank you.”

When Max went back at the crew’s table, Ace was patting the war boy on the shoulder, with none of the stiltedness they’d had towards each other at the beginning of the meal. Furiosa was smiling slightly, giving Max an approving nod when he sat down.

"Sister!" said Ace, full of relief. "I thought you'd taken a creepy shine to a breeder, but she's your sister!"

“I’m not sure what even... how do I act around a sister?” Kompass turned to Furiosa, with forehead scrunched, “Like how the Tribunes act towards each other?”

"Maybe with less touching."

“...like we’re with pups then?” Rachet asked, “Would that make Kompass the pup or his sister? Or both?”

“ _Neither_ ,” Furiosa said with some strange combination of emotions flickering over her face, “even less touching than with pups.”

“Then—”

“Just take it slow,” Furiosa interrupted gently, “you’re still mostly strangers, you’re… rebuilding that.”

“ ‘Still shaky,’ yeah,” Kompass breathed out, and shook himself all over, “Alright.”

Austeyr squished up next to the war boy, “And it’s not like we’re not all here to kick you if you’re being stupid, right? Or sort it out if things are rust.”

"Thanks. So helpful," Kompass muttered, but he seemed more relaxed with the thought.

Max watched as the table-full of crew seemed to cram itself tighter, Rachet reaching across Kompass to grab the jug of aqua-cola and not reclaiming his distance, Ace and Furiosa across from him wedging in close and leaning in to speak. He almost didn’t know that he could fit himself there, or if he had permission to, but Furiosa seemed to catch sight of him from the corner of her eye and shoved up against Ace some more so there was space next to her.

Food and water was slid into the open space on the table before he'd even sat down.


End file.
